Heart's Blood
by Ramzes
Summary: A beautiful Lyseni bride. A schemer. A wife and mother who left. Nothing more is known about Larra Rogare who would indirectly play such an important part in shaping the future of Westeros. What was she like?
1. The Rose-Bud

Heart's Blood

 _The Rose-Bud_

"Rhaena loves dancing," the boy said all of a sudden and in the beginning, Larra didn't even register that it was him, let alone that he was addressing her. But when she did, she stopped twirling and gave him a long look, the image of the young son of a certain magister giving her a look of rapt attention disappearing from her mind entirely.

"So he can talk, after all," Lysaro said and Larra glared at him.

"What?" he asked. "Won't you keep dancing?"

"No," she snapped and turned to look at the boy. But it was too late now, it seemed. The moment had passed. He was staring ahead of him, polite as ever but withdrawn. The door to his past was closed.

He was a strange boy, this Viserys Targaryen. Her father claimed he was nine years of age but he looked smaller, his head too big. He was very pale, as if he had wilted for the lack of sunlight. Larra knew that he had been kept in the palace of House Giarani under heavy guard before her father bought him off with whatever gold and promises he had used. He had been living with them for two months already but she had rarely heard his voice. She knew that he was not of weak mind because she had actually watched him as he read in the olive garden. His eyes actually followed the lines. And he followed the instructions the swordmasters gave him. He understood everything. He was just reluctant to talk unless addressed. But now he had – to her. She had stirred something within him and with all the recklessness and mindless selfishness of her sixteen years, Larra felt immensely proud.

"Rhaena?" she repeated. "Your mother?"

A moment too late, she realized her mistake. The name sounded like his mother's but that wasn't it. As if to confirm it, he shook his head.

"Sister," he said. His eyes welled up and Larra's triumph disappeared. Moredo started saying something but she spun around and gave him a look that made the words catch up in his throat – a unique event in itself.

Time went on and little by little, from what her father told her and Viserys' own sudden comments, more frequent now, Larra was able to piece the entire story of this prince from a faraway land together, or almost. Not that she wanted to. It sounded like a tale of horrors but also mismatches. The pieces didn't quite fit. Sometimes, he talked about his older half-sisters as he would have about mothers. Other times, the mentions of his mother were those any boy of high birth would make to his mother, yet Larra got the feeling that his mother had died before he had left his home – which wasn't so. Sometimes, she could not distinguish between his eldest half-brother and his father, unless he specified. As to his full brother, the one who had abandoned him in their hour of need, Viserys never spoke his name. She did not truly want to know, did not want to get sucked into his world of darkness that made him wake up at night and read until dawn when he'd go to sleep like dead, as the slaves gossiped. Yet she couldn't avoid it – he lived with them and in the rare cases when he forget how he had arrived to this station in light, he was charming, lighting the world around with his smile. In those moments, Larra could see the man he'd turn into and was a little sorry that he wouldn't be around long enough for her to see him then. She did not know what her father had thought when he had bought the boy's custody but it certainly hadn't been just to have him lounge in the olive gardens and train at arms, and she was a little fearful for him, for with time, she had come to regard him with something akin to affection.

"When I get wed, you'll come to visit," she promised him one day and was surprised by the long look he gave her.

"Why aren't you spoken for yet?" he asked and she withdrew, shooting him a look of sudden, disturbed dislike. She had thought that she'd wed Sangralo Giarini of the black hair, that her father's purchase of Viserys' custody was a step in the fulfillment of this plan. But he was right, there was nothing official. And she was already eighteen.

"Sangralo?" her mother asked and gave her a look of disbelief when Larra dared to come to her. "You thought we'd wed you to a Lyseni? When we managed to secure a princess for your uncle?"

 _My uncle secured the princess all by himself_ , Larra thought dully. She had never met Aliandra Martell but she had heard enough to know this. But of course, she did not object to her mother. The heartbreak was too great. And of course, her mother didn't even see it. She was looking down at the household accounts again, as if Larra's question had been a vastly unimportant one. But just when the girl reached for the curtain separating her mother's solar from the bedchamber, the older woman said, "You'll be wed to a prince of Westeros. The Targaryen boy will take you to wife before the year is over."

 _I will not marry a child_ , Larra wanted to scream but didn't. At the end, she would do what her parents wanted, like she always had. Silently, she walked out of the solar, returned to her chambers, checked her pale hair in the looking-glass. The merchant would arrive soon with his fabrics and she had to look presentable. Besides, she had never been late.

"The purple velvet or the grey silk?" the old man asked when he saw that those two were what she was torn between, and Larra did not know but she knew it was very important that she chose, else her mother would make the choice for her.

"The grey silk," Viserys said from the archway leading off the courtyard and when Larra looked again, she saw he was right. The purple would complement her eyes but the pale grey would make them stand out, making their colour more intense. Had the boy learned this from his older sisters? Had he given them such opinions?

Viserys and the merchant both stared at her, aghast, when the first tears finally fell.


	2. Blooming in the Wind

**Thank you, VVSINGOFTHECROSS, pinke289 and UTG, for reviewing.**

Heart's Blood

 _Blooming in the Wind_

Larra couldn't say if this war because of the babe, or was it warranted but she found increasingly little tolerance in herself for her brothers. She wouldn't mind it if Moredo got a place in the Kingsguard but did he really expect that he'd get it mere months after they had arrived at court? Lysaro, on the other hand, was too outspoken in his convictions that people assembled from all over the Seven Kingdoms to serve as regents to the young King could hardly be expected to refrain from serving themselves first and foremost. They were quickly turning many against themselves and Larra liked it not, no better than she liked being in the centre of the busy life in a palace with rules that she was not accustomed to. Each time she thought she had started navigating her way, something happened to show how wrong she was. Alliances changed, promised rewards got higher and in less than half a year, she had already arrived at the conclusion that the only ones she could truly trust were Viserys' kin – at least the three of them she knew. Perhaps. Because even the Kingsguard could not be trusted. Obviously.

"Did Ser Marvyn murder Queen Jaehaera?" Larra asked one day as she and Baela sat in Baela's solar, kept inside by the melting of the great snows that had gathered through the five years of winter.

Baela took the question so easily that she didn't even look up from her figures on the new board game that Larra had brought from Essos. "Yes," she said. "He did. I cannot prove it, of course, but he did it. And they might say poor Gaemon's death was because of poison meant for Aegon, but I know it was Daenaera who was the target."

Larra felt very sorry for the little queen, a child of all but seven and already marked for death at least once. At least she had been a woman when her father had thrown her lot in with this barbaric kingdom – well, kingdoms. One day, Viserys would grow into a man who could win everyone over while she doubted that would be the case for Aegon. If they survived this long. With the very men guarding the King's door as he slept being murderers on someone else's pay, who could say what would happen?

Baela rose and went for another cover that she wrapped around Larra. "You should have told something if you were cold," she scolded. "Think about the babe!"

Larra did think about him all the time. That child would be the fulfilling of her obligations. Her hope. Something that would be hers in a world that she did not know. She didn't tell Baella that it didn't matter. Once she was reasonably well-swathed, a cover or two would not bring her the warmth and glorious health she had enjoyed when she lived in a land hotter and far more inviting.

Her son's birth was the first time she felt truly happy. He was so lovely. Such a good babe. Lusty cries, good suck, although Larra was stunned when the midwives handed him to her expecting that she'd put him at her own breast like a slave girl or a cow! But despite the constant pain whenever he took suck, she reasoned out that she had been spared the pains and inflammations of the ladies who tightened their breasts in cloths to stop their milk.

"You're a good mother," Viserys said about two weeks after the birth and she gave him a long look. He spoke as if he were surprised. Could he be noticing more than she gave him credit from? Could he have realized how little she wanted him – how little she wanted any of this? Except for her son. Her Aegon. But she couldn't ask.

"I fear for his future," she said slowly, realizing that this was the truth. "This court is a dangerous place, Viserys."

"What do you suggest?" he asked not angrily but definitely in a colder tone. "Return to your Lys? Because it's so safe there?"

To this, Larra could not say anything. To her, Lys was home but to him, it was a place from his nightmares. "I don't know. The Hand of the King seems like a good and honest man but can we even trust him, let alone the rest of the regents?"

"Of course not," Viserys said immediately. "If you think I trust them, you're wrong. But that's the only way to keep the peace for now. Soon, Aegon will be of age. One year isn't this long."

"More like almost two," Larra corrected. "The only ones I feel we can trust are my brothers and your sister. And her husband, of course. Isn't there a way to put this in action?"

Aegon stirred in her arms and Viserys took him before he could start crying. Pacing the bedchamber with him, Viserys replied, "I've thought of this. But there are limits to what can be done. There is no way the lords will accept Alyn as head of the regency or Hand of the King. They didn't even let him become a regent."

That seemed ridiculous to Larra who was accustomed to girls from pillow-houses wielding greater power than old Valyrian families if their beauty and mind surpassed their skills on the pillows convincingly enough. But if Viserys thought this had no chance to work, then it probably didn't. With time, she had come to realize that behind Viserys' engaging manners and infectious smile lay a mind sharper than Truth. And he was learning to apply it with speed that displeased her. Too fast for someone so young. With time, he'd turn into a force unto his own and she'd feel even more inadequate in comparison.

But that didn't mean that he didn't share her desires. All three of them – he, his brother, and Baela – burned to get rid of the patchwork of men who held their fate in their hands. When agitated enough, Aegon took leave of his melancholy and silence and turned into someone who scared Larra worse than anyone before. He spoke venom and dark wishes, and what he'd do to the remnants of the Greens and all she could think was that he'd go mad. No one could live with such hatred for long without losing their mind. And Baela wasn't much better. Viserys resisted it, for now, but sometimes shadows lay long and fearsome in their very bed.

"Do not think about this," she'd say sharply whenever that darkness threatened to escape. "Don't. It's over now. Be a man and face the future, instead of dwelling in the past!"

With time, he took her advice to heart and stopped even mentioning about the horrors and grimness of his past that shaped his presence, and Larra was happy. Too late did she realize that he had only locked them in his heart, behind a wall that rose between him and her as high as any of the other barriers.

Still, that darkness and hatred meant that it was time for another court to rise in the place of this old, breathing its last one. And Larra intended to play a major part in it. Who else could? The Queen was a child, there would be many years before she could step into her role. Baela, albeit wise, lacked something very important for a woman – good looks. And Westeros could certainly use some cultivation.

A new court. That sounded good. With time, Moredo could indeed take up the prestigious position of a Kingsguard and Lysaro could make alliances that would help him enrich Hose Rogare even more. In a generation or two, the Iron Bank would only turn into a fading memory.

"Be careful," Viserys often warned her but the only way to make sure that nothing that she said or did would be taken wrong would be to not interact with anyone, be they Green or Black.

The Greens now claimed that she was trying to turn the King and his brother against them, thus stopping the wounds from healing; the Blacks disliked her supposed honouring of Queen Alicent when all she had done had been to note upon the exquisite taste with which some halls were furnished and wandering in the back of the gardens before she even knew that the disgraced Queen was buried there. And still, one night she rose in bed, startled awake by Viserys very noisy arrival. "Dress up," he said tersely. "Something that won't take time to put on. Come on! We have to leave!"

"Why?" Larra asked as she tightened her belt. "What happened?"

"We're in danger. Marston Waters has arrested your brothers. He's coming for you."

Larra just stared at him in mute horror and mechanically started looking for her slippers. "Hurry up!" he snapped as he rushed into the adjacent chamber to return a heartbeat later with Aegon who was mewling and the wide-eyed nursemaid.

Larra and the girl grabbed as much covers and clothes as they could carry and followed him down the hall, past torches breathing their last and servants who rubbed at their eyes, staring after them.

Maegor's Holdfast was lit so brightly that it resembled a huge ball of light. Larra could see the glint of the pikes underneath as they crossed the drawing bridge, and her heart missed a beat. Her eyes flew to Viserys and Aegon and the certainty in Viserys' step helped her regain her own footing.

"But what happened?" the little Queen insisted when they were brought over to Aegon's solar. Larra was a little surprised to see her there but before she could ask, great clamour rose and they all rushed to the window, to the dozen or so men approaching the bridge that was slowly being lifted. A shout of rage broke the night and Larra saw how one of the men tried to jump on it in the very last moment and with a shriek, fell to what was his certain death.

"Are they coming to kill us?" Daenaera asked again, panic turning her melodious voice shrill.

Aegon looked at her. "No one is going to kill you," he promised. "As long as I draw breath."

That seemed to soothe her but it wasn't enough for Larra. As she rocked and hushed her crying son, her mind desperately tried to find out a way to escape in case Aegon's determinedness betrayed him. Those eighteen days had no end…

As soon as the ordeal was over, her brothers left. Despite being proclaimed innocent – despite being innocent in trying to use Westeros for their own game – it was clear that no one could guarantee their security. Larra, though, Larra had to stay and as she stood and watched the brightly painted ship leave, she felt lonelier than ever before. Aegon and the child that she suspected was growing in her womb already were tying her even harder to a land that was foreign and unlikeable to her, to a family spun of darkness. But Viserys was turning into a man already. Perhaps with him, she could be happy. Perhaps she'd stop dreaming of Sangralo Giarani night after night after night…

She never did. Because while Viserys loved her and she was happy with him, he was not there more often than he was. He was Aegon's closest confidant and he showed uncanny ability for ruling. Which meant that Larra spent much of her time alone or trying to entertain women who despised her and she despised them in turn, yet they all smiled at each other as if trading gossips and inklings for ruling a household was what they dreamed of. Of course, Larra had no idea how to rule a Westerosi household and everyone was too eager to notice her mistakes.

Broken promises to come back in time to sup with her on their own. More and more new gowns unnoticed. Lack of inclination to discuss with her anything that mattered to him because they had both realized that for now, it would be better if she didn't meddle in politics and she had closed her path to reaching any of the pains and joys in his heart not related to her. For years.

It was in such a night when he still hadn't come back and she waited for him when she felt the first pangs of childbirth. Two weeks earlier. In the beginning, Larra wasn't too afraid. A fortnight wasn't this long and she had two easy childbirths under her belt, as slim as she was. But as the pains became sharper and sharper, driving her to madness without the babe moving downwards, she realized that something was wrong. And when, after two agonizing nights and one day, the maesters reached elbow-deep into her to snatch her child out, she only wanted to die.

She didn't. Slowly and painfully, she recovered, only to find out that everyone waited for her babe to die. She couldn't blame them – the poor thing was so tiny and gaunt, not like her robust sons at all. She had troubles taking suck, so finally Larra had to tighten her flowing breast in swaths because this abundance could easily kill Naerys. Each time she took her daughter in his arms, she felt the beating of her heart, so slow, so quiet, and she experienced a moment of horror that it would happen now. Two times, Naerys stopped breathing and Larra thought that her child had just died in her arms. Nothing that she had ever experienced could have prepared her for such primal horror. Other times, she sat by the cradle, watched her daughter breathe ever so slightly, wondered how long those slight breaths would keep stirring the tiny chest and only wanted to escape, run far away.

Now, Aegon had been taken to the practice yard with a small wooden sword in his arm and Aemon, as curious as ever, followed, trying to turn everything he came upon into sword of his own. The expectations of boys of high birth that were not this much different here from Essos took them away from her. Now, she truly had nothing. Just this little girl who would die soon and who Larra kept forbidding herself to love.

When Naerys ran a fever that kept her in its clutches for three days straight and robbed her of her hardly learned ability to sit and rise on her own, Larra knew that she had to leave if she wanted to survive.

"You don't mean it," Viserys said when she informed him of her decision. "No."

"I do mean it," she replied, feeling the pounding of her heart. "I cannot stay here, Viserys. I am not running from you. You were always kind and tender to me. But there is only one life for any of us and I won't spend mine waiting for you to come back, in a country that repulse me and is repulsed by me in turn. I thought the children would change how I felt but I realized it wasn't enough."

She paused and her eyes became softer. "Those children! I love them so much yet sometimes I wish to bite at them straight in the forehead like a viper…"

She hadn't mean to say it. She had been disgusted with herself when those thoughts came upon her, usually after a particularly disappointing and bitter day. But that turned out to be the thing that effectively cut off any attempts Viserys might have made to persuade her to change her mind.

"Have you gone this far?" he asked after a while. His voice was even but something in his eyes had died. "Very well, then," he said. "I'll make the arrangements. You can leave as soon as they're completed."

Larra felt a rush of joy that pierced her to the very bones. And something else. Something dull and insidious but she'd realize what it was only later. Something like disappointment.


	3. Scorching Touch of Summer Sun

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, it means a lot!**

Heart's Blood

 _Scorching Touch of Summer Sun_

Those first months back home were like a dream. Waking up in her own bed to the murmur of the narrow sea, because the palace of House Rogare rose straight from the edge of a proud rock, speaking her own language, eating fruits and fish that were so uncommon to Westeros, drinking the best wine of the world, talking and laughing with people she knew from birth and whose ways were her own – nothing in the world could compare. Happiness swelled up within her, bubbled up. She was no longer the different one. The evil foreigner. She was one of the people she met daily. Even her mother's disapproval could not shake her. After surviving the regents and the siege of Maegor's Holdfast, her mother no longer had the power to terrify.

"If your father was alive, he'd have returned you to your husband kicking and screaming," her mother said.

 _If Father was alive, I wouldn't have needed to leave_ , Larra thought and quickly drove that idea away. She was pleased that she had left. She was. That was her heart's desire. Now, she had to arrange the purchase of that slave who was said to make such wonderful hair-styles… Tonight, there was a lavish reception in the palace of Magister Scandrino and she wanted to look her best. What a relief it was to have men stare at her with desire, yet not consider her a whore simply because of who she was!

"What are you doing?" Moredo asked one morning as they broke their fast. "What are you doing with this lemon?"

Larra gave him a look of confusion. "I am saving it for later," she said and her brother laughed.

"What?" he asked. "You think our cupboards are going to be depleted of lemons? If they do, the kitchen slaves will just go out and pick some others. We aren't in danger to crave them."

"No," Larra agreed. "Of course we aren't."

His grin faded and he gave her a look of concern. "Are you well, Larra? You look…" He didn't finish.

"Yes," she said. "I am."

She didn't tell him without thinking, that she had saved the round yellow fruit for Aemon. Six months after her return, a memory had just arisen all of a sudden. She had been holding her son, then about a year old, in her lap and she had looked away just for a moment to say something to a serving maid. When she had looked back, Aemon had reached the plate that should have been out of his reach and was serving himself, his face all sticky with lemon juice. Larra had expected that he'd start screaming as soon as the bitterness hit his tongue but he had looked in bliss. Unlike Aegon who only liked sweet things, Aemon had turned out to enjoy fresh bitterness as well, without any honey to sweeten it up. Ever since then, Larra had been saving lemons as special treats for him.

Her heart ached from the memory, the pang almost as great as the ones she had felt when he had been tearing her womb to arrive in the world.

Viserys' letters kept arriving at even intervals, every three months – brief concise notices that all was fine and a few questions if he could do something for her. Each time, she opened them with her heart turned to stone, sweeping her eyes over the content, the stone turning heavier each time she spotted Naerys' name. Each time, it turned out to be about how her daughter was doing. Naerys hadn't died. Yet.

About a year after her leaving, she started expecting those letters with a different emotion, one that she couldn't quite define. They hadn't changed in tone or content but her reception of them had. She no longer read them with fear that she'd find a demand that she return. She never found even a veiled plea and that pained her. She didn't know why. She didn't want to return. She didn't want him to ask her that. She was far happier here than she had ever been in that cold land of his, she was, and yet each time he failed to ask she felt hurt and rejected as if he had been the one who had cast her away and not the other way round. Pain shot through her heart each time she met a child, especially a boy who was as fair-haired and purple-eyed as hers – and in Lys, that meant every second child in the street. It was a good thing that she traveled in a litter!

"You're a fool," Lysaro told her each time he was into his cups. "This boy adores you. With Aegon being as mad as he is, he might never father an heir. You could have been Queen one day but you ran away from your enemies instead of fighting them and triumphing at the end."

But Larra was so tired of fighting.

"You're very tired, aren't you?" a young voice asked her one night when she escaped the great hall filled with people in the palace of House Noblisi, suddenly feeling that the perfumes and laughter were too much for her.

Larra looked at her left and smiled at the sight of the girl in a bright dress of green and red clashing outragerously. The child's long silver-gold hair fell in heavy waves down her back. She seemed to be about eight year old.

"I am," Larra said. "It's a wonderful reception. Your parents have provided much entertainment. A little too much," she added, smiling.

"Do you want me to bring something to you?" the girl asked. "A glass of wine?"

Larra smiled again. "No, thank you. I'll be fine," she said, suddenly wishing for Siella Noblisi to go away. She couldn't help but wonder what Naerys would look like when she reached Siella's age. _You're wondering too much_ , she scolded herself. _She's a little enemy but an enemy anyway._ Behind the smiles and compliments on both sides, despite the claims of friendship, the hostility between the two Houses was deepening. And it was her own daughter she longed to see, not this child. It seemed indecent somehow to spare even the tiniest amount of time and attention on other children when she had refused the chance to do so with her own. The pain that she refused to admit ate at her anew.

"She'll be wed to the future Prince of Dorne one day," Lysaro said about Siella. "Our cousin. And Noblisi will enjoy all the perks that used to be ours."

"Only if you let them," Larra said. "Lysaro, we should try winning more Houses on our side. Just being resplendent isn't enough."

"It was for Father."

"It got Father killed!" Larra's voice rose. "Do use our resources to make fast friends instead of impressing with our wealth!"

She was stunned when she found herself repeating Viserys' words of… how many, six years ago? Even at fourteen, he had shown that remarkable brightness of intellect, expressed ideas that others needed years to reach. And of course, Lysaro hadn't reached them yet.

And then, everything turned into a nightmare. The pounding at their door in a night as black as a raven's wings and roaring with the rage of the sea under their windows… The brief and bloody fight when the entire might of Lys was thrown against their household guards and the few slaves that stayed loyal… The claws reaching out to grab her and deliver her to a court that had been gathered in advance, comprised of all those who hated them… She listened to the indictments of greed, cheating in trade, disloyalty to the clients of the Bank and from time to time thought that she was back in King's Landing again, with Marston Waters listening eagerly to the accusations against them. But this time, there was no recalling of one's duty; this time, they were announced guilty and she and Moredo were banished from Lys. Larra would be forever grateful that she hadn't been there to see Lysaro scourged to death.

"They will get their due," Moredo swore, his hand on Truth. "Just wait. You'll see."

"I don't want anyone to get their due," Larra said tiredly. "I only want peace."

"You could have had that if you had stayed with your lord husband where you belong," her mother reminded her. "Perhaps then, they wouldn't have dared…"

But Larra had long stopped listening to her.

In Pentos, the men came. Not many – Larra didn't feel a constant need of carnal pleasures. She wouldn't buy a bedslave as her mother did. But she needed someone to hold her and want to take her to bed because she knew now as she had known then that she'd never have a family of her own, another husband, other children. At the time, she had not cared but now she could feel with cruel clarity what she had given up. But she was now tired of being alone and yet none of the men she met, none of the men who adored her could fill the gap widening in her heart. The fact that they satisfied her carnally didn't mean anything because Viserys had satisfied her as well, once he knew how he was supposed to give her pleasure. Larra had never been unfaithful to him when they had still been together and she didn't feel unfaithful now. But she didn't feel happy either.

And she was a runaway. An exile. Depending on other people's mercy. She who had once been the second lady of a realm, even if such a primitive one as Westeros. The nightmare was coming back. Once again, she was the different one. The tolerated one.

Things became better when Moredo found employment in a swordsell company. In less than a year, he was already elevated enough in the ranks to afford a good house for themselves, thoughtfully placing their mother with her grief and complaints as far away from them as possible. Larra had no trouble letting whomever she desired in her chambers at night through the back door and for a short time, it made her happy. Until she had to rise and face the world behind her door. Just as it had been once. At least then, she had had something. Sometimes, she felt that she would do anything if she could only touch a shadow of it again.


	4. The Last Day

**To everyone who reviewed: thanks for your support to this pre-series story about a character that we know next to nothing about!**

Heart's Blood

 _The Last Day_

Usually, Larra traveled in a litter because, of course, moving on foot was beneath a lady of her station, no matter how bad the fortune that had befallen her. But more and more often, she found herself wishing that she could avoid socializing with the highborn Pentosi ladies. Their condescending courtesy was bad enough but their patronizing sympathy was worse, and behind that, a fear lay, a fear that Larra, having grown up among women not so different from them, could see, although they would never admit it: the fear that one day, they could find themselves in their place. And they fought against that stark reminder by any means they had.

"Perhaps if your brother was less spendthrift…"

"Perhaps if your father had fostered better relationships, instead of wasting you to a savage land…"

"Maybe, if you had been more observant, you would have noticed the signs?..."

Larra smiled and agreed that _perhaps_ , _maybe_ , it was all her House's fault indeed. She knew that while men were those who ruled, women were the ones who held the key to acceptance and she needed that acceptance. She was a fugitive, after all. They could easily turn their husbands, lovers, and brothers against her, so she visited their receptions and solars, listened to their chattering and wished to be elsewhere. When she could avoid it, she didn't go at all.

She was no longer in position to afford merchants coming to her home with their fabrics but she didn't mind going at the markets. The colours, noise, and _life_ there were a welcome change in the smooth but not gentle flow of her own life. With time, she took over her mother's duty, taking care of the household with the help of the few slaves they had. She even made some economies on household expenses, investigating and choosing cheap enough foods and clothes that to make the Master of Coin at King's Landing give her a look of appreciation. Sometimes, she even went to the market herself to look at the goods.

It was one of those days, with the slave girls sent home with the purchases and Larra and the sturdy Evran who had been born into Rogare's service and was now her guard during those excursions walking over to the Street of Silk when she heard a voice that made her stop dead in her tracks.

"No, I am in no hurry," a man was saying. "I told you, this afternoon is just for the two of you and I. There is no need to take the first thing you see. There is enough time."

"But what if there isn't?" a girl's voice asked. "It'll get dark soon and then it'll be time for us to go back."

The man laughed. "No, child. Here, it gets dark far later. Summer is stronger here. You'll have enough time to make all your purchases."

Larra slowly turned. Just as she had expected, she saw them. It was Viserys with a girl who could only be Naerys and a boy that she couldn't recognize. Instinctively, she looked around. Apart from a few guards, there was no one else with them. No second child.

Viserys didn't notice her. He was nodding at something Naerys was telling him in a low voice as they walked down the street, his expression one of utmost seriousness. They walked right by her, so close that Larra could almost touch them. She stilled her hand that was reaching out almost on its own will and realized just how changed they all were. The children had grown up, of course, but Viserys, the only one she could recognize… he had grown up as well and Larra was startled to realize just how _young_ he had been when she had left. His seriousness and constant concerns had made her forget that he had been just a boy. Their son – she still didn't know which one he was – was just as fair-haired and healthy-looking as she had imagined. Naerys, though… She was six years old now, yet she was as small as a four year old and so thin that every whisper of the wind could break her. Did she not eat at all? Her skin was as white as marble and looked as cold as one. No blood added life to her cheeks. The hand holding her father's was just long fingers and protruding knuckles.

"I must choose a present for the Queen today," Naerys said. "And the babe. Do you think she'll like some green silk, Father?" she asked.

Her brother laughed. "She'll be a _babe_ , Naerys," he said. "Even smaller than Baelor and _he_ can't tell a silk from a pallet. And besides, it might be a boy."

By her daughter's voice, Larra could say that she was pouting. "Not a boy!" Naerys protested. "There are too many boys already!"

"There is," Larra's son agreed complacently and she turned her head, no doubt to glare at him. Larra kept walking a few steps behind them, feeling lonely and rejected, as if she had not been the one to bring this upon herself. Viserys knew that she now lived here, yet in his last letter there had been no hint of intention to visit Pentos, let alone bring the children with him. And he hadn't sought her here.

Suddenly, he turned around and Larra made a step back. She had forgotten this sharp perception of his that had scared her since his very first days as a hostage in their palace, the ability to feel when someone was intent on him. She reasoned out that it was a result of his being surrounded by enemies but she had disliked it anyway. Now, he looked straight at her and Larra could tell the exact moment when he recognized her. The shock in his eyes was painful to perceive. But he regained his self-possession almost immediately and shook his head. "Not here," he mouthed and followed the children into the nearest shop. From the door, Larra could see Naerys looking at the silks with more knowledge than any six-year had to have.

"My lady…" Evran said. Perhaps he had recognized Viserys as well... no, he hadn't. Why should he? Viserys had been just twelve when he had left Lys.

"Find out where they are lodged," Larra said. "And tell me immediately. I'm going home. Alone," she added, just to make sure, because the idea of letting her roam the streets on her own clearly did not appeal to him. But she needed to leave before she succumbed to the temptation to call their names the moment they left the shop. Faint hope was slowly pushing its way through her breast but she still couldn't name it, even as she spent the entire afternoon weeping.

To her surprise, it was Viserys who came to her as night drew near, and her mother gasped when she saw him. He gave a curt greeting before turning to Larra. "May I talk to you alone, my lady?" he asked and she nodded, her heart sinking. She led him to her solar and saw that same indifference, that lack of interest about the minutae of her life that he had exhibited back in King's Landing. He didn't even look around to see how she had arranged the room she spent her days in.

"Were you following us?" he asked as soon as he took a seat.

Silently, she shook her head. "I didn't even know you were here," she said and felt that she was trying to find an excuse for this chance meeting.

He looked surprised. "Didn't I tell you in my last letter?"

"No," Larra said immediately. She was certain because she read his letters over and over until she could tell them by heart.

"I thought I had," Viserys said and she wondered if he wanted to hurt her, just like she had hurt him. Was she so insignificant that he didn't bother to remember? She gave him a long look and now she realized what she had missed at their earlier encounter, caught up in the realization that he was a man now: not only he had grown up but he had changed. Any softness, any easiness of interaction had melted away from his features. The facial lines were sharper, the eyes deeper-set. Had she done this? Yes, she had.

"I am sorry," he said. "I've come to negotiate some matters with the magisters. But anyway, I didn't expect that you'd show any interest in a meeting."

Did he really believe this? Why would he not? Larra poured a goblet of wine to him but he didn't touch it.

"How are the children?"

"Do you care?" he asked and immediately reconsidered. "They're fine," he said and paused. "But I'd rather not have you disturb their lives just because fate threw us all in the same city. Naerys isn't feeling very well in the heat. In fact, I am not sure what she and Aemon even know about you."

She gave him a look of disbelief. "You aren't sure?" she echoed. "Don't you _know_?"

Gods! Never before had she been reminded so cruelly just how _young_ he was. Their children needed a grown up father, not one who was twenty-three.

This time, she had managed to anger him. He almost rose but forced himself to sit back. The fire in his eyes, though, did not fade away. "Listen, Larra! I am taking care of our children. You might not consider my way the best one but it is the best that I can do. And since I wasn't the one who left, you really are in no position to talk!"

Tears sprang to her eyes but she willed them away. He was right, of course, and in this brief fit of undisguised anger she recognized his fears, his attempts to do his best, his realization that it wasn't good enough and the demons that it brought him. "I am sorry," she said. "I didn't mean it like that."

He nodded but didn't say anything.

"Where is Aegon?" she finally asked.

"He's being punished," Viserys said curtly. "At home."

Punished? What could Aegon possibly have done to justify depriving him of a journey to Essos and a few days with just him, his siblings, and their father – an event that Larra already felt did not happen nearly enough? But she did not dare ask. "Can I… do something to help?" she finally asked, realizing just how stupid that sounded.

Viserys shrugged. "If you can push the flatteries and ideas pushed upon him for years that one day, he'd be king, I'd love to have you do this," he said and Larra's heart lurched forward, as if trying to escape through her ribcage. "No? I didn't think so. Yes," he went on, "there were those who made him believe that Aegon will never father an heir and now, he has two. I'd love it if you manage to explain to him just why that's good and right. The Seven see that I seem to be failing. And there is nothing that you can do about Naerys. Her health is as delicate as ever. In fact, I think you can only do one thing – run away again, the moment things get tough."

He wasn't talking hatefully or even heatedly. His voice and eyes were even, as if he was looking through her and not at her.

With stark clarity, Larra realized that Viserys would never take her back. He could never trust her again, his love for her was dead and buried, and the scars were there. She could see them like a map of his soul, the way she had never been able to read him before. Five years later, the wound of having loved her had scarred – badly. She had thought he'd be happier without her, eventually, but now she could see that he wasn't. She didn't believe that he would be. But he wouldn't be happier if he took her back either. There would be no love, no trust to hold them together. Just him wondering when she'd leave again – and perhaps not even caring.

A bout of sweat made her shiver. "Would you mind if I come to watch them… just from afar?" she finally asked.

He thought about this. "Yes," he replied after a while. "But you won't come close. Promise me."

Did he really think that she'd like to upset her children? Larra slowly nodded and as he rose and strode to the door without looking back, she saw, as if coming out of a nightmare, the day that she dreamed of every so often, the day when she had boarded the ship and left them.

* * *

 **The End**


End file.
